


Soaring With Sherlock

by LunaIrenePond



Series: Stories From a Flat on Baker Street [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, M/M, Winglock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 11:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaIrenePond/pseuds/LunaIrenePond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John are both from avian families and they are both broken, but they came together to fix each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in regards to this story, i wrote it in my family's car while we drove from Virginia to Alabama and back over the summer, I was relatively new to fanfiction. But i hope you enjoy it anyway :)

The Holmes family was one of the most influential avian families in the world. They had their roots in England but their branches reached into almost every government in the world. They were one of the few avian families that managed to make it through the dark ages without being killed off. They knew how to hide what they were until it became imperative for one to know. The avian families had figured out in ages past that they could hide their wings by folding them in close to their backs. This was how they survived the hunts and this was how Sherlock survived the first thirty-five years of his life.

The Watson family was the complete opposite. They were one of the avian families that were hit the hardest. They wanted to do some good in the world, but in the process they had almost destroyed their family. By the time that John Watson went to college to become a doctor the entirety of the family was down to three people. Then when Dr. Watson went to join the army there were only two of them. Then when the ex-army doctor got sent home he discovered that he was the last family member alive, his brother Harry Watson Jr. was dead, and Dr. John H. Watson was completely alone in the world.

This was how Sherlock and John found each other. Sherlock was weary with the years of being called a freak and John was weary with the memories and the burden of being the last man standing. They say broken people gravitate towards other broken people and that's what happened with them, they found each other and then they stuck. For years they were careful to keep what they were from each other. But then on one fateful case Sherlock's shoulder got badly stabbed and John didn't realize until they were back in the flat how bad it really was.

"Sherlock let me see your shoulder," said John when he saw that the right shoulder of Sherlock's coat was dark and wet with blood.

"John I'm fine I can deal with it," Sherlock said trying to take off his coat without wincing, he failed.

"Sherlock you need help, come on," John preceded to lead Sherlock up the stairs and into the larger of the two bathrooms.

"John," Sherlock started to protest as John stood in front of him and tried to take Sherlock's coat off of him.

"What Sherlock?" Are you afraid I'll see your wings? They're nothing I haven't seen before," Sherlock was so stunned by John he stopped fighting and let John deal with the four-inch long gash on his shoulder.

Two hours later Sherlock was lying on the couch wrapped up in his beautiful black wings and John was typing up his blog as he sat in his arm chair. "John, why are you so calm?" For once in his like Sherlock was stumped.

John didn't say anything, he just stood up and got some tea, but as he returned he rolled his shoulders and a set of silver gray wings unfurled.

"Oh, that would be why," said Sherlock sitting up.

"Yeah, I actually haven't seen someone else's wings for about fifteen years," John said sitting down next to Sherlock.

"How is that possible? I mean there are a fair amount of us," this was one of the only topic that Sherlock didn't know everything about.

"Yeah, but most are like us, hiding what we are from the world, and anyway my family were about the only ones left crazy enough to enter the army anymore."

"I'm sorry," said Sherlock with his head in his hands.

"For what?" John asked slightly amused, Sherlock was acting human.

"For being an ass."


	2. Chapter 2

After John and Sherlock had seen each other's wings the whole atmosphere had changed in the flat. Sherlock and John could now walk around with their wings out, well, provided that they could tell that no one would walk in on them. Mrs. Hudson, as always, knew something was up, so she set all her effort on figuring out what it was.

"You two seem a whole lot more relaxed than normal," she said as she checked on them one morning.

"It's nothing," said John. "We're just getting more sleep."

"Oh, is that what it is," said Mrs. Hudson with a knowing look.

"Not gay," John said.

"Well I'm not you're housekeeper and what am I acting like today? Your housekeeper, because you two are lazy and do nothing," Mrs. Hudson said answering her own question.

"Still not gay," John said getting a cup of tea.

"And I'm still not your housekeeper," said Mrs. Hudson as she went back downstairs to her flat.

John glanced at Sherlock who was lying on the couch chuckling. "What?" asked John.

"Oh, it's just that, Mrs. Hudson totally won that argument," Sherlock was still smiling.

"She did, didn't she?"

"Still not gay?"

"Still not gay," said John smiling and shaking his head.

"Hmm pity," said Sherlock.

"Totally," said John. After three years of people assuming that they were a couple John just kind of gave up trying to defend himself. So they joked about it and John wallowed in self pity that he couldn't get a date anymore. His reputation for being Three-Continent-Watson was starting to fail. "Hey, why is it that, out of the two of us, I'm the one that's sexuality is always questioned?"

"Because I never deny it, the more you say that you are not gay the more everyone thinks you are."

"I hate it when you are logical," said John jokingly.

"Really because I thought that your favorite character from Star Trek was Spock," said Sherlock.

"No I'm pretty sure it's Kahn right now," John and Sherlock had spent all day yesterday watching the original Star Trek movies to prepare for the first of the new series. They had spent all the movies trying to match up their friends with each character.

As the boys fought over Star Trek Mrs. Hudson came up with an idea. "Boys I'm going to the store. Do you need anything?"

"Sanity," John shouted from upstairs.

"A new flat mate," shouted Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson could hear something heavy being thrown across the room.

"I'll see what I can find," chuckled Mrs. Hudson as she walked over to the door, she opened and closed it, while staying inside the flat.

Upstairs Sherlock smiled and text John. "Do you realize what she is doing? S.H."

John almost opened his mouth to talk when he was silenced with a look from Sherlock. "Now what?" John texted back.

"She wants to know why we are friendlier towards each other. S.H."

"Oh, do you want to show her?"

"Sure it'll be fun. S.H." Sherlock smiled as he unfurled his dark black wings.

John soon followed suit. "Hey, John, do you think we could raid Mrs. Hudson's fridge?" Sherlock said smirking as he sat in his armchair.

"I don't know, it's not like she's here or anything," said John, he was now also smirking.

Sherlock bounced up out of his chair and headed downstairs, John was close behind. "Hey Mrs. Hudson, what brings you back so soon?" Sherlock asked once he had opened the door to her flat, she had her back to them and was digging through the refrigerator.

"Oh I had forgotten if I needed to get-" she was cut off when she turned around and saw the two boys. The jar she was holding hit the floor and its contents went everywhere.

"Mrs. Hudson!" both Sherlock and John shouted as they lunged to catch her as she fainted.

"My dear Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock started once she had come to, "I owe you a thousand apologies." I had no idea you would be so affected."


	3. Chapter 3

Greg was battling a massive hangover when he was called into work because some poor sod had gotten himself killed in the back lot of a cinema. Was it too much to ask that killers murder people at normal times of the day? But of course that couldn't happen, so here Greg was at seven in the morning behind a cinema looking at a dead body and begging Sherlock to at least consider the case. There was a strange thing about the body; he looked like he was smiling. Aside from that though it was hopeless Sherlock wouldn't show, they had a John Doe, no murder weapon, and no motive, all they could do was wait for the autopsy.

"Anything Molly?" Greg asked about six hours later in the morgue.

"Yeah," said Molly unzipping the black plastic body bag. "This John Doe is avian," the man was tall, about six foot, he was from African dissent, and he had dreadlocks, Molly had him so that Greg could see his back. "You see avians can fold their wings into their backs, actually under the skin, and while they are alive, you wouldn't be able to see that they were there except for the tell tale sign of two faint lines down their backs. But when they did and the last stages of rigor mortis sets in you can see the wings tightly folded in there."

"What was the cause of death?" Greg asked; his arms folded across his chest.

"Well," said Molly walking over to one of the lockers and pulling out a forensics bag. "This was stuck in the back of his neck." Inside the bag was a plastic dart.

"Was it poisoned?" Greg asked holding the bag.

"Yes, it was a fast acting poison native to South America this dart, I would guess, would have been blown from a blow pipe of some kind."

"And the poison could account for his peculiar expression?" asked Greg handing the bag back to Molly.

"That is one of the main symptoms," Molly said as she zipped up the black body bag and put the poison dart back in the locker.

"Thank you Molly, you helped allot," Greg said as he left the morgue.

"You're welcome."

As Greg walked back to his office he had a realization, this was the first time he had worked on a case that had to do with an avian. He had been at Scotland Yard for fifteen years. But then he thought about it even more, he couldn't name a single avian that he knew personally. He then sent a text to Sherlock, "The murder victim is a black male avian, he had been poisoned with a dart. The poison was from South America."

"That's interesting," Sherlock texted back.

"Yeah it is, so can you come and help?" Greg texted.

"Be there in ten, by the way, how is your head?"

"Better now, thanks, how's John?" Greg and John had gone out drinking last night because Greg had gotten divorced by his wife that Thursday. By ten they were both very drunk and both the Holmes brothers had taken their respective drunken princesses home, direct quote from John.

"He got home, threw up, and then passed out. He just woke up." Greg was about to respond when Sherlock walked in without John. "Okay so we know that the killer is from America, light on his feet, and short for his age."

"How do you know that?"

Sherlock picked up a picture from Greg's desk. "You have a picture of his footsteps, the shoe size is 7, which is an American size, and then if you care to notice, he walks with un-proportionate strides, so he is either short adult or a teen that hasn't finished growing, I would put money on an adult. Finally, if you knew anything useful, you would realize that he had to be quite on his feet because we avians have hearing that is ten times stronger than humans, so he would have easily heard him coming." Sherlock rattled off these facts too fast for Greg to comprehend everything that he said. With a flourish of his coat Sherlock left Scotland Yard to return to 221B Baker Street and a John, no, his John, that was currently nursing a very bad hangover.

After about three hours of going through all the criminal records trying to find a match to Sherlock's description of the killer. It finally dawned on Greg 'we' Sherlock had said 'we avians'.

Once Sherlock had gotten John back to bed he got a one word text from Greg, "We."

"Shit," thought Sherlock. "He knows," Sherlock had to give Greg some credit though; he was the smartest inspector in Scotland Yard.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning Sherlock texted his brother Mycroft, "Greg knows."

About half an hour latter Mycroft texted back, "I know."

Sherlock was frustrated; if Greg talked then the Holmes family would be the object of even more jabs and ridicule. "And?" He texted back.

"And he won't say anything; he respects our want of privacy." Mycroft texted his little brother back as he sipped on his first cup of tea.

Last night Mycroft had taken the liberty of "kidnapping" Sherlock's friend Detective Inspector Lestrade and taking him out for a drink. This wasn't the first time that Mycroft had done this to Greg and it wasn't like he didn't know it was going to happen. Greg knew that as soon as he made it clear that he knew their secret the oldest Holmes would come and take him somewhere to be talked to. So when Greg left work last night to find Mycroft standing off to the side of the sidewalk with his signature umbrella, he wasn't surprised.

Mycroft took Greg to some fancy lounge that Greg had never heard of but that Mycroft seemed to be a frequent visitor. Mycroft bought Greg a beer and started to talk. Mycroft told Greg of their entire past. By the end of the night Greg understood why avians like to be left alone to blend in, their history was too painful.

Sherlock shook his head when he saw the latest text from Mycroft, his brother was getting attached. "How are you feeling?" Sherlock asked as he handed John a cup of tea.

"Much better, thank you," John said as he took the tea. "Sherlock how did you make this tea?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Sherlock, you killed the microwave last week and you blew up the kettle last night," John took a sip. "Sherlock, this tea taste like coffee. Did you make this in the coffee machine?"

"Yes," said Sherlock as he nibbled on a piece of toast.

"Why did you do that? How did you do that?" Sherlock opened his mouth to answer, but John cut him off. "No wait don't answer that, I don't want to know. Thanks for the thought though."

"You’re welcome, John."

John smiled then looked at his watch; he jumped out of his chair. "Shit I'm late, Sherlock don't blow up any houses, rooms, or major cities while I'm gone."

As soon as John was gone Sherlock got out his phone and texted Greg, "Any news?"

"Yeah," texted back Greg. "Well… does a new body count?"

"Where?"

"King George Secondary School."

"On my way," Sherlock texted Greg as he grabbed his coat and scarf. "Mrs. Hudson," he shouted down to her flat, "I'll probably be out all day. If John comes back and ask, tell him I'm on a case."

"Have fun deary," Mrs. Hudson shouted from her breakfast; she had long ago given up telling Sherlock that he shouldn't be happy over death.

Once Sherlock got to the crime scene Donavan started on him, "Oh, look who it is, the Freak. Where is your pet? Did he finally run off on you?"

"Donavan, one would wonder how you got where you are now. Some would say through hard work, and I agree. I think you would have to work very hard to sleep around to where you are now." Donavan looked like she had just been slapped. While she was still stunned Sherlock walked under the police tape and walked up to Greg, "So Lestrade. Is there anything different?"

"We'll she's obviously avian, she had a picture ID on her, she's one Mary Morstan and she is a teacher at the uni on the other side of the city."

The body of the woman was slumped up against the back wall of the school, her wings were broken, and she had the same expression on her face. Something caught Sherlock's eye as he looked over the body, he reached down and pulled out a phone from the pocket. "What was the time of death?" Sherlock asked Greg.

"They put it at about five in the morning," Greg answered, "Why?"

"Because Mary got a text from her cousin Jake at exactly five-o-one that read, 'turn around and close your eyes'."

"So, Jake is our killer," concluded Greg.

"No, Jake is dead. You already found him; Mary got a picture sent from Jake's phone of his dead body, telling her that will happen to her in two hours and to run fast. It was sent at three-o-one."

"So find Jake's phone."

"And your one step closer to finding the killer."


	5. Chapter 5

John was pissed, the girl he had been dating seriously for the past couple of weeks had stopped talking to him and whenever he tried to text or call her it said that her phone was disconnected.

"John?" Sherlock asked when he came home from the morgue where he had been almost all day.

"Yeah," John yelled back.

"Have you heard from Mary recently?"

"No," John said, angrily slamming down his laptop. "The last time I saw Mary was three days ago and the last time she talked or texted me was yesterday around midnight to tell me she loved me."

"So she knew she was going to die," Sherlock mumbled.

"What?!" John exclaimed.

"Oh, Mary Morstan was found dead earlier this morning," Sherlock said casually as he laid on the couch, thinking.

"Why the bloody hell did you not tell me earlier!" John yelled as he stood up and started throwing stuff at Sherlock.

"What? Was that too blunt?" Sherlock asked dodging pillows and then books.

"Yeah a little," John paused just long enough to say that then continued throwing stuff. When he ran out of things to throw he stormed out of the flat.

Mrs. Hudson hearing the shouting came upstairs and said, "Look at this mess. Did you two have a little domestic?"

"I'll clean it up and yeah we had a little domestic," Sherlock said as he got up to pick up the books and pillows.

Mrs. Hudson bent over to help Sherlock with them all, "Here Sherly."

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said reorganizing the book shelf.

"Are you okay Sherlock?"

"Yes Mrs. Hudson I am fine."

"Okay, if you say so," Mrs. Hudson was about to leave when she paused and asked. "Why don't you call or text him and talk about whatever it was?"

"I'll think about it."

"Good, it can never hurt."

John I'm sorry I didn't tell you as soon as I could; I was trying to protect you. -SH

Protect me, from what? -JW

The killer killed her cousin and then her, there are no relatives left to kill off so the logical conclusion would be to kill her boyfriend. -SH

Wait, Jake is dead?! When did this happen? -JW

Yesterday morning. -SH

So why didn't you tell me? -JW

Because you were passed out in your bed. -SH

Oh -JW

I'm sorry John can you please come home? -SH

Yeah, I'm on my way. -JW


	6. Chapter 6

John had just rounded the corner to Baker Street when he got a text on his phone. It was a picture of Mary's dead body with a text that read, "You're next. Two hours, run as fast as you can." John felt sick as he staggered towards 221B.

"Sherlock," said John as he walked in the door.

Sherlock poked his head down the stairs, "John what happened?" Sherlock ran down the stairs. "John did you get a text?" John just stumbled up the stairs and collapsed on the couch, "John? John where is your phone?"

John slowly handed Sherlock his phone.

"Okay thank you John. I'll get Mycroft to track down the text and you'll be fine John I swear." Sherlock took both of their phones and called his brother Mycroft. "Brother dear, I need you to do me a favor."

"Why should I do anything for you?"

"Because John will end up dead if you don't," Sherlock said bluntly.

Mycroft's whole tone changed, "What do you need me to do?"

"Track Jake Morstan's phone."

"I'm on it," Mycroft paused, "Sherlock he's in the house across the street from you."

"Thank you Mycroft,"

"Sherlock, what-"

Sherlock cut him off as he hung up the phone and made a second call, this one to Lestrade. "Any news from your end?"

"Yes actually," Lestrade said. Sherlock could hear his chair squeak as he tilt back, "I spoke to the FBI about what has been going on and, get this; they informed me that they had a string of murders a couple weeks ago that perfectly match what is going on here. They have a description of the killer too, he's a middle aged human male with short brown hair, that is slightly balding in the front, and he has a slightly unshaven look to him. Does that help any Sherlock?"

"Yes it helps plenty," Sherlock said as he hung up. He then turned to John, "Where is your gun."

"My gun, what for?" asked John.

"For me to shoot the person that is going to kill you. Now where is it?" Sherlock was getting upset, they were wasting time.

"In the drawer next to my bed," said John, Sherlock latest uproar had snapped him out of the state he was in. John followed Sherlock up to his room and watched from the doorway as Sherlock took out his gun and put some ammunition into it. "So what's your plan?"

"No."

"No what?"

"No you can't help," Sherlock said trying to get around John. "It's going to be too dangerous."

John grabbed Sherlock's forearm as he tried to shoulder past him, "Sherlock, how else are you going to manage to see the killer, never mind shoot him, if I don't help?"

"John I don't want to lose you."

"I know Sherlock, but we have an hour and a half to come up with a plan and the killer is probably watching the house, so use your astounding brain and think fast."

"Do you trust me?" Sherlock asked, he already had a plan.

"With my life," John replied. He knew that it was going to come to that.

"Good, now," Sherlock started to ramble out a plan. John tried as hard as he could to follow his speech at 500 kilometers per hour. When Sherlock finished and John agreed to the plan they called up Lestrade and Mycroft and explained the plan to them both, after allot of reassuring everyone agreed. It seemed like no time had passed but pretty soon they got the text from the killer, "Your time is up, come outside and play."

The game, it seemed, was on.


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock was standing in the living room of 221B Baker Street watching John's cold form stand on the street bellow. Mycroft was relaying the killer's movements in the house to Sherlock over the phone. Greg Lestrade and five of the Yard's best officers were making their way to Baker Street. John reached into his pocket and got a text, Mycroft read it off to Sherlock, "Look up John; I want you to see your killer." John and Sherlock looked up together, right at Sherlock's eye level was a man with a blow pipe, he brought it to his mouth and it shattered. Sherlock had shoot and killed the man across the street. But then another shoot was fired from down the street and John collapsed. Sherlock shoot the second man.

"John, are you okay?" Sherlock asked running at him.

"Sherlock I'm fine, really I am he barely got me," John said as his right pants leg was getting stained dark red.

"John we have to get you to a hospital," Sherlock insisted.

"Fine," Sherlock helped John stand up and the two of them hobbled over to the cop cars that had just rounded the corner.

Greg glanced at John and called over one of the younger officers who then drove the two too the ER. Two hours latter Mycroft found Sherlock in front of the hospital smoking a cigarette.

"You know you really shouldn't do that Sherlock," Mycroft said walking up to him.

"You know most brothers would offer some condolences."

"We're not most brothers."

"Let me guess, 'caring is not an advantage?'" Sherlock said quoting his older brother.

"It may not be an advantage but that doesn't mean you shouldn't care," with that Mycroft strolled off swinging his signature umbrella.

Thinking about what Mycroft had said Sherlock put his cigarette out and went inside. He spent two hours waiting for John to come to, but it only took five seconds to tell John he loved him.

Three days later they were back home. They were sitting watching the TV one night when John asked, "Whatever happened that night anyway?"

"Keith Miller was an American serial killer; he had a drug dealer cousin in Brazil who got him his drugs and his weapons. Keith's goal was to bring down whole families. He thought that we were a disease that needed to be eradicated. But anyway that's how he chose his victims, the rest was simple, he would scare them then kill them, so when he came for you I was ready. The only thing I didn't account for was an accomplice," said Sherlock. "I truly am sorry about that."

"Sherlock I'm okay, that's all that matters," John said planting a kiss on Sherlock's lips.

"No it's not," said Sherlock kissing him back. "And I'll never let it happen again."


End file.
